Option A
by mimithenumberon
Summary: FDR and Tuck are in a club on a mission but when Tuck catches FDR making out with another man...Things take quite the turn. XD Warning: MATURE SEXUAL CONTENTS, M/M, Bad Language, Rough Sex. Enjoy and please review! X3


**Warning: MATURE SEXUAL CONTENTS!, M/M, rough sex, bad language, slight violence **

**Alright, so this is dedicated to Barbiegirl1993 who wanted a story with this pair in which Tuck was possessive and dominating. I hope i didn't let her down...XD **

**I hope all of you like it and if u could, pleas please please leave a review! I will mean the world to me! ENJOY! X3**

**Also, I do NOT own This Means War or any of the characters! (except the stranger...XD) **

_**Option A**_

FDR stole a glance at his partner. The other man didn't notice. He never did. The loud music from the night club began to reach their ears and with each step they took it became louder and louder. They were on a mission. Well actually it was a break from their usual stuff. They were just there to investigate some crack-heads and if they played their cards right they wouldn't even have to fight. Considering the high risks they were used to taking, this mission was practically a holiday.

'You ready mate?' FDR snapped out of his trail of thought and realized they had reached the entrance to the club. _Option A_, written in neon pink, flashed just above their heads.

'_I _should be asking _you_ that. This is my domain after all.' He smirked and made past the Brit, taking the lead. Daydreaming while on the job was as dangerous as drunk driving. He wasn't the cautious type as a rule but he wasn't suicidal either...

The bouncer gave them a quick glance but didn't move to stop them. Yep, like he said, _his_ domain. As soon as they took the first step inside the dimly lit building their eardrums were acausted by blearing, chaotic music. They made their way to the bar, having to push through the sea of swaying bodies congregated on the dance floor. FDR moved around them with an easy fluency, used to this sort of thing, while Tuck bumped into nearly everyone and muttered hasty apologies every couple of seconds.

'How do you manage to do this every night?' Tuck looked genuinely incredulous, his eyes ogling the gyrating dancers. Their movements were wild and unruly but the atmosphere was pure excitement. The air felt a little damp and stuffy but that didn't seem to matter.

'Come on, I don't go out _every_ night.' Tuck met FDR's eyes and raised an eyebrow. 'What?! Sometimes we're held at the office!' The two chuckled, right before Tuck's vigilant gaze wandered off. Curiously FDR followed and he felt like something hit him in the gut, but he stubbornly kept his features impassive. Tuck's eyes fell on a blonde dancer in a tight red dress, which frankly revealed more than it was hiding. She was a beauty alright and her movements were enticingly provocative. It just served to confirm something FDR already knew, but it still hurt.

'So what exactly's the plan?' Tuck focused his attention on his partner, his smile a little sheepish.

'Well, we don't know much about our target. Just that he sometimes frequents this bar so all we can do is sit and wait. And hope.' He flashed FDR an easy smile and that blow struck with more force.

'That's reassuring. Well since we're already here, let's have a bit of fun with this. Wanna drink?'

'Sure mate.' Tuck turned in his seat, facing the bar counter and FDR felt a little satisfaction that he wouldn't be able to see the blonde now. It was petty, but then again, he was petty. Never hid it.

'You're paying.' Tuck rolled his eyes, not really expecting anything less. 'So what'll it be?'

'I'll have a Jack Rose.' FDR regarded Tuck for a second expecting for it to be a joke but when that didn't turn out to be the case he burst into a fit of laughter. The other looked perplexed. Had he said something funny?

'You are _s__oo__o_ British!'

'What? What does that even mean?' But FDR shook his head and ordered the beverages. A Jack Rose for Tuck and an Apple Martini for himself. Ooh yeah. The classic spy drink. They drank in silence, each one enjoying the pleasant burn descending down their throats. It was exactly what they needed after nearly getting killed all week long...It was the little things.

'And how long are we going to wait exactly?' FDR dreaded the answer, which he pretty much guessed, but he had to ask anyway.

'The whole night if we have to.' Tuck grinned when the other man sighed dramatically and buried his head in his hands. If FDR suddenly turned serious...Tuck expected a fresh shower of frogs, or a storm of locusts or some other apocalyptical sign.

'Screw that. I am not sitting on this chair like a loner the whole night.' He got up, his drink in his hand, while Tuck sent a panicked glance his way. Oh no. He wasn't up to looking after the younger man! That was NOT in the job description!

'Where are you going?!'

'Dancing.' FDR flashed him a pearly white crescent moon grin and disappeared in the ocean, because by now it was an ocean, of bodies who eagerly swallowed him up. Tuck cursed under his breath and jumped from his seat but he was already too late. He could see nor hide nor hair of his troublesome best friend.

'When I find him I will kill him.'

* * *

FDR knew he wouldn't be found anytime soon. It wasn't just the mischief in him that prompted him to cause the other man trouble, for once. He just had to get away for a moment. He had to calm himself down. He reached the far wall, having easily danced his way in union and around the people crossing his path. Not a drop of his drink spilled.

Once on the other side, he took a second to take a lungful of oxygen and rested his back against the vertical surface. He took another swing of his Martini and finished it. Luckily there was a small table just beside him, already cluttered with empty glasses, and he added his own to the pile. He studied the crowd. The atmosphere was too dark to notice more than the general, but that was fine. People didn't come to night clubs to think. They came to break free. In his case, to forget.

What he needed was a distraction. If there was some sort of guarding angel looking after him it seemed to hear his prayer and FDR's oceanic orbs noticed the man approaching his position. Not a bad looking fellow with slicked back ginger hair and bright green eyes. Even in the dim light the agent could see how creamy white the skin was and without a blemish. He was tall too and well built but still light on his feet. All in all, quite the catch.

'I'm surprised to see someone as good looking as you all by yourself. Is there a reason for that?' The stranger took a position beside FDR and leaned against the wall as well. Upon closer inspection, he saw the stranger was dressed in tight black jeans and a half buttoned green shirt. It complimented his eyes nicely.

'I'm single if that's what you're asking.' FDR knew the dance and played the game, though usually he was the one setting the traps. Though he didn't mind being lead...In his fantasies he was always- No. He was not going to think of _him_.

'Not a coy one are you?' The stranger looked amused and FDR smirked.

'Nope, so if you want something you're free to come and get it.' That was probably the bluntest invitation in history but he wasn't up to the game. He just wanted to be distracted. He needed to silence his overly active imagination and satisfy his urging body.

Happy he didn't have to work for it, the ginger moved to stand in front of the other and sealed their lips together. His body hid FDR's nicely from any prying eyes and he leaned in closer. The agent was all too eager, opening his mouth and accepting the invading tongue. Moving his hands to meet around the stranger's neck he pulled the other even closer and sighed softly when he felt the unfamiliar hands grip his hips. He could tell the other was maybe even more eager than himself. The proof was rubbing against his left thigh.

He moved one of his hands down the other's chest, trailing oh so slowly, but when he reached the lining of his jeans he suddenly found himself alone. He blinked, surprised at having his lips freed so suddenly and was taken aback by the scene before his eyes. The nearest people to him had stopped dancing and they were staring, but not at him. He followed their line of vision and gasped. Literally gasped.

Tuck pulled the ginger man by the back of his shirt and quite literally threw him across the floor. Enraged and disorientated, the other got up and launched at the British agent with his fists, unaware of whom it was he was dealing with. Tuck evaded the blow with mock ease and delivered a succession of three punches of his own. One to the torso and two to the abdomen. FDR knew they were the sort of blows that didn't cause lasting damage but they hurt like hell. Sure enough, the other guy bend double and clutched at his stomach like that could somehow diminish the agony. FDR snapped out of his daze and rushed towards his partner.

'Tuck! What are you doing?!' FDR reached the other agent and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the beaten civilian. They were already attracting attention. The mission was fucked. He had to put all his strength into his pull, managing to shift the Brit but that also succeeded in turning Tuck's focus on him and FDR froze. He had never seen Tuck's eyes look so...livid. His entire frame was tense and his cording muscles felt like steel under FDR's petrified fingers. The younger man felt his heart turn small and he took an involuntary step backwards, his primal fear forcing his body to move. He hadn't been this scared when staring at the barrel of a loaded gun, which happened on a ridiculously regular basis.

'Tuck?...' His voice was nothing but a whisper and he doubted the other heard him what with all the other multitude of noises but something registered and Tuck grabbed FDR's arm as quick as a striking cobra and before anything else could be said or done he dragged the other away from the scene. The people parted like the Red Sea did for Moses, none daring to approach the angry beast of a man. FDR didn't have the courage to oppose his friend and he let himself be lead, having to almost run to keep up with the angry strides of his leader. But why was Tuck so furious all of a sudden?

Tuck pushed the backdoor to the club open with enough strength to leave a noticeable dent in it. They were in a back alley, adjacent to the main street but unfrequented. A stray black cat hissed and bolted when Tuck threw FDR against the brick wall, his arms gripping the other's biceps like vices. FDR's eyes rolled into his skull for a second, taken aback by the sudden impact of skull against brink, but he came back soon enough.

'Tuck! What are you doing?' His partner's eyes caught the moonlight and shone a demonic gold. He expected lightning to beam out of them and fire to shoot out his mouth.

'Who was that?' Tuck's tone was low, so low FDR had to strain to hear it at all, but as powerful as the roll of thunder. The fingers dug harder into his arms and FDR struggled not to wince. That was sure to leave a lovely collection of bruises...

'Who?' That seemed to be the wrong answer and Tuck shook him like a rag doll, causing his head to hit the hard surface again. FDR's training seemed to take a momentarily leave of absence since he was as helpless in the other's arms as a rabbit in the clutch of the famished wolf.

'The man I pulled off of you.' His tone didn't increase. Not in volume.

'Just some guy I met! What's it to you anyway?' FDR's head hurt and his arms were on fire. He didn't know what got into the other guy but his flaring anger was quickly overpowering his primal fear.

'So anyone will do for you? You would whore yourself to any man and woman who crosses your path?' FDR bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Tuck didn't know anything! Not a god-damn-thing! He didn't know about the feelings plaguing him and the reason why he, as Tuck so nicely put it, whored himself every chance he got! He was so blind FDR wanted to scream, but he didn't dare. What if he created a rift between them that could never be closed? What if he would lose Tuck's friendship? That was something he couldn't live with so he bottled all his feelings deep, deep, deep, deep down and that was where they would stay.

'Than that would also make me a candidate.' FDR had a split second to understand what was happening before Tuck captured his gasping lips with bruising force. He was so shocked he didn't register the vices unclenching, nor his wrists being pulled up beside his head and pressed firmly into the wall.

Before he even had a chance to question reality, things changed once more. Tuck ripped the black shirt and pushed it down FDR's arms. There was nothing gentle in his touch. His lips descended on FDR's throat and attacked it, his teeth grazing the skin harshly enough to leave pink marks.

'T-Tuck...' FDR felt the hand press against his mouth, stiffeling all his words. Tuck didn't move from his task of devouring the arched throat. He descended to the shoulder, biting it not-too-softly. Despite the dominating touch, FDR couldn't help moaning. His body reacted in a shockingly record time.

Suddenly Tuck rose to his full height once more, his lips inches from the hand still clamped against FDR's mouth. Their eyes met. Sparks flew. In that second they finally understood. Frothy oceans mixed with destructive lightning and a storm was unleashed.

FDR bucked his hips, showing the urgency of his need and Tuck grinned. FDR's lips were freed but only for the nanosecond it took Tuck to descend upon them with renewed hunger. His powerful hands moved to grasp the impatient hips and pushed the other further into the wall, swallowing the groan of discomfort. Then his fingers hooked into the waistline of FDR's trousers and yanked once, twice, sending the buttons flying and breaking the zip.

The pesky material was rolled down FDR's long legs with some added help from their owner, and Tuck gripped the muscular thighs. He lifted the lighter man, using the wall as leverage and FDR joined his legs behind the other man's waist reflexively. The digging fingers didn't release any of their force. Another batch of bruises sure to form...

'Can you take it dry?' Tuck's hot breath danced across FDR's lips, mixing with his ragged gasps.

'Fuck yeah. I've done it dry before.' Tuck snarled, a fresh wave of anger taking hold of him at the thought of FDR with other men, and moved inside the unprepared ring of muscles. FDR had been stabbed before, shot, burned, even drowned a few times, but all those experiences paled with that of Tuck entering him. It was painful but that wasn't it. FDR was used to pain. It was the sheer electricity and heat incinerating him from the inside out.

Tuck swallowed FDR's shocked yell, letting the sound reverberate all the way down his spine and paused for a moment, basking in the sensation of having the other agent's muscles constrict around his member. It was almost too much to bear. Almost. He didn't wait for FDR to give his consent before he began to move, thrusting inside the eager warmth with relish. He broke the kiss since he had to gasp for the much needed oxygen or he risked suffocation, bust his lips were latched to FDR's collarbone, his breath adding new level of pleasure to the other's assaulted body.

FDR left angry scrape marks along Tuck's back and shoulder, even through the thin material of his still present shirt. He wanted to tear the material to pieces but no matter how much he pulled it simply would not break. His spine bridged along the wall and his heart drummed a tattoo against his ribcage. The repeated in-out-in-out action reduced him to scrams and moans in record time. Curses and profanities of the most vulgar nature rolled off his tongue like it was second nature. Like pleading to be fucked harder was something he said as freaquently as good morning.

'T-Tuck!...Fuck...I can't...' The Brit moved one of his hands and closed it around FDR's member, preventing him from coming. The agony was so intense the younger man felt tears spill down his flushed cheeks. Tuck silenced his shameless begging with another battle of tongues, which he won, while he continued to attack the other's sweet spot like a battering ram intent on destroying him.

Tuck pulled away from the other and bit into the flesh of his neck harshly as he climaxed, the pleasure so ardent it caused him to see stars. His hand loosened around the other's member and he finally achieved his own high, yelling his partner's name like he was screaming for help.

FDR's arms draped over the other's back and his head fell heavily against his shoulder. His gasps formed clouds of mist since the night air was quite chilly. The fire of their passion was still licking their skins so they didn't notice the drop in temperature immediately. The two were content to take a minute and reflect on how fucking extraordinary that experience had just been, both pushing their nagging worries deep, deep ,deep ,deep down. Finally, Tuck shifted his weight and moved slightly so that FDR could reach the ground once more.

His hands did not leave the other's hips, and though he didn't know it FDR was incredibly grateful since it was the sole support keeping his legs from buckling under his weight. Now he finally understood the term 'mind-blowing'. Because that was exactly what that orgasm had been. After another couple of minutes passed FDR ventured to look at the other, finding the gold eyes firmly glued to his own shy gaze. He could read nothing but worry and apology in them.

'FDR...'

'Don't say anything. I think you proved your point pretty clearly.' He grinned in that cocky way of his and Tuck looked like he was about to collapse with relief. So he had that much power over the Brit...Interesting...

'Sorry mate. I didn't mean it to turn out like this... I just...'

'...saw me with another man and you got jealous. Admit it.' Well he had to get his way back somehow...FDR = petty. It was an easy equation.

'I admit nothing.' It was great how easily they fell back in their usual routine. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have happened because it really didn't. Unknown to the other, both had harboured growing feelings of affections and it only took a small incident for those buried emotions to explode and rush to the surface. In a way, this was bound to happen.

'You are _so__oo_ British.' FDR's chuckled at Tuck's confusion. Well, in all honesty THAT display of possessiveness had been very un-British but he wasn't about to let the other know _that_. Life was too short to pass such a fun opportunity.

'I still don't understand what that means...'

'It's my secret to know and yours to find out.' It was great the way he could afford to flirt with the other now that the barrier had been breached. FDR grinned seductively at his partner, now in more ways than one, and the other accepted the invitation. The kiss was quaint and calm and spoke volumes of love and trust. They broke apart when FDR began to shiver. The wind was making its presence know, apparently irked at having been ignored. It whipped at their exposed skin without mercy.

'You should get dressed before you catch a cold.' Tuck moved back to allow more space for movement, FDR having regained his strength and footing.

'Um...Tuck?' The Brit looked at FDR, who was glancing at his thorn shirt and equally useless trousers.

'What?...' He knew damn well what but...well...

'You're going to pay for this.' And he did.

* * *

**THANK YOU very much for the read! I hope you enjoyed it and like i said before, please leave a review if u can. It would make me very happy...Yep. I'm THAT easy to please. XD **

**HAVE A LOVELY DAY!~**


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